


I Left it Blank.

by scarlettbridges



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, this is not as sad as it sounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarlettbridges/pseuds/scarlettbridges
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t tell her how he feels about goodbyes. He tries not to remember how he never got a chance to say it to his family. He doesn’t point out that even when he does have a chance, he just doesn’t know what to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Left it Blank.

As soon as Derek turns the key in the doorknob, he can hear Cora beginning to give hasty goodbyes to whoever she’s on the phone with.

“Yes, yes. I know. I have to go. Bye.”

Derek just sighs as he leans against the door jamb, fixing his eyes on his sister as she looks ready to flee from her spot on the couch.

“Talking to Stiles again?”

She doesn’t move.

Derek sighs again and hangs his jacket on the back of the recliner before walking towards the kitchen. “You know I’m not going to be mad at you for talking to him.”

He hears Cora exhale and shuffle over, partially hiding behind the wall as she speaks.

“I know.” She comes out from behind the wall and sits at their little dining table. “I know you said it was okay. I just hate the way your face gets whenever you realize who I’m on the phone with—”

“What happens with my face?”

“—and I hate seeing that look. I know, when we left, the two of you weren’t on good terms.”

“Why do you say that?”

She looks at him incredulously. “You didn’t even say goodbye! The last time we saw him, all you said to me was, ‘I’m not home,’ before he walked into the loft and you hid upstairs. Whenever he’s on the phone, you don’t even say, ‘Tell Stiles I said, ‘Hi.’’ That doesn’t exactly scream ‘friendship’ to me, Derek.”

He stops making his sandwich to look up at her. He doesn’t tell her how he feels about goodbyes. He tries not to remember how he never got a chance to say it to his family. He doesn’t point out that even when he does have a chance, he just doesn’t know what to say. And he certainly doesn’t tell her about all the postcards Stiles has sent to Derek ever since Cora gave him their address around Christmas.

Stiles would send him Beacon Hills specific cards with little sharpie drawings of him, Scott’s pack, or whatever supernatural creature they were battling that week. Derek doesn’t know why Beacon Hills has so many different postcards, but he does know he received at least five (the last message ending with “I don’t even know if you read these or just throw them away”) before he finally caved and responded. He didn’t want to go out and buy a postcard, so he grabbed the first thing with a writable surface and scribbled, “I don’t put them on the fridge.” It was on a bright blue post-it and he stuck it to the inside of the envelope. Derek likes to think that Stiles secretly likes it when he's being difficult. And the belief probably isn’t too far off since he still gets postcards once a week even though he doesn’t respond. Which is why Derek never lets Cora get the mail on Fridays.

He doesn’t say any of this, instead opting for, “Tell Stiles I said, ‘Hi.’”

* * *

Three months later, Derek gets a postcard with a drawing of himself scrawled over a picture of the preserve. When he turns it over, all it says is: “Do you ever miss it?”

He can’t shake the feeling that the word “it” is meant to be read as “us.” When he’s feeling particularly self-deprecating, he’ll replace “it” with “me.” He doesn’t know what to say. Instead, he just props it up on his dresser, words facing out. When he doesn’t find a postcard in the mail the following Friday, he sticks a blank blue post-it in an overnight envelope and lets Stiles interpret it however he wishes. If he has trouble saying goodbye, of course he has trouble putting into words whatever he feels for Stiles.

(Hint: the word he’s looking for is “longing”.)

* * *

The postcards resume their weekly schedule with no clear indication of how Stiles deciphered Derek’s response, but the texts accompanying each exude a sense of superficiality that makes Derek’s heart clench.

The postcard of the preserve still sits on his dresser, but the words don’t face out anymore.

* * *

It’s a Wednesday when Cora gets a phone call in the early evening. She and Derek are sitting in the kitchen playing card games as dinner bakes in the oven. Her phone screen lights up and both of them see Stiles’ name pop up, but Cora doesn’t answer it right away. Instead, she looks at Derek, waiting.

“Answer it.”

The phone hasn’t even hit her ear when Stiles starts rambling.

“I’m sorry I haven’t called lately and I know this is short notice, but I could definitely use your help right about now.” Derek can hear the familiar rumble of the jeep’s engine in the background and the grind that happens every time Stiles throws it into third too early. Which happens a lot when he's driving to or away from something.

Cora drops her cards on the table. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

“Shit,” he exhales and Derek hears the sound of hands hitting the steering wheel for a hard turn. “It only showed up yesterday and I still haven’t been able to figure out what it is because it somehow knows how to hide from werewolves and I still have to deal with Agent McCall-Me-A-Douchebag so that Scott can run around in the moonlight. _Help me_ , Cora. _Please_.”

She nods even though he can’t see it. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

She stands and starts to pull on her jacket before stopping and staring at her brother. She tenses and her entire body radiates confliction as she looks from the oven to the table, then to Derek’s face. He thinks his face is probably doing the thing she hates again.

“You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to.” She watches him start to tidy the cards and turn off the oven and stick the half-cooked lasagna in the fridge. “Or do. Whatever works for you.”

He doesn’t say anything as he puts on his leather jacket and grabs his keys.

* * *

Let it be noted in the history books that this was the one time luck has been on Derek Hale’s side. All the stoplights he has to drive through are green and no cops pull him over as he speeds down the freeway at ninety miles an hour. They’re driving through the mountains that border Beacon Hills when Cora calls Stiles back asking where she can meet him. Derek pulls up to the preserve sign (really, Stiles?) and starts running towards the sound of a pounding heartbeat. Cora breaks into the clearing first, startling the creature (it looks like a dragon and Derek figures he really needs to cut down on _Game of Thrones_ ) that previously had Stiles backed against a tree swinging the crowbar he keeps in his jeep. As Cora chases it deeper into the forest, Derek walks cautiously over to Stiles, who's staring after Cora and the dragon and still wielding the crowbar like a bat.

“Stiles?”

Stiles slowly turns his head at the sound of Derek’s voice, eyes widening at the sight of him in his leather jacket, light gray shirt, and black sweatpants. He takes a step forward before dropping the crowbar and launching himself at the man in front of him. The hug stuns Derek for a bit, but he slides his arms around Stiles’ body and lets that feeling of longing reach the surface. When Stiles pulls back, he catches his breath like he’s been holding it and looks at Derek with an expression he can’t describe. But he doesn't give Derek a chance to ask.

“I missed you.”

(There’s a blank postcard on its way to Derek’s house that means the same thing.)


End file.
